


The Definitely Not A Horse Job

by NienteZero



Category: Leverage
Genre: Case Fic, Multi, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NienteZero/pseuds/NienteZero
Summary: A shady antiques dealer has stolen something precious. But the team doesn't know just how special the stolen goods are.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29
Collections: 2020 Leverage Secret Santa Exchange





	The Definitely Not A Horse Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_original_n_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_original_n_chan/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, n_chan! I had so much fun writing this - the very special guest star wanted to shine brightly for you.

“Horses.” Parker said. “I hate horses.”  
“Technically that’s not a horse, babe.”  
“I can see the horn! Parker hissed.  
“Also it’s way too small for a horse, it’s got goat hooves, that tail ain’t a horses tail, and it’s got those creepy goat eyes,” Hardison said with a shuddder.   
“Well then, I hate whatever that is,” Parker said. 

"Babe," Hardison said slowly, "nobody hates unicorns."

Earlier that week...

* * *

  
The client, Isla MacIntyre, had flown in from New York to see the team, bringing her grandmother with her. 

If any of the team had been picturing Isla's Grannie as a white-haired angel of the cheek-pinching little old lady mold, they were soon disabused of that idea when they met her.

Her hair _was_ white, cropped short to her head except for a fauxhawk that was dyed a luminous shade of turquoise. The first thing she'd done was tell them to call her Sue, because Mrs MacIntyre made her feel old. She was dressed in black jeans and a plaid coat cut to look like a biker jacket. She carried a cane with an elaborate carved handle that looked like an eagle's head. 

"What seems to be the problem, Isla?" Parker asked.

"Grannie's been robbed. We have a family heirloom. A box of very old coins, like a little wooden treasure chest. They've been in the family for centuries. Grannie would never have sold them," Isla said through tears. She was fidgeting with a thin, ancient looking gold coin, with a wavy looking star or sun on one side, and a unicorn on the other side, rearing up like it was going to fight.

Hardison nudged Parker, who passed over a box of tissues.

"That horrible man," Isla continued, wiping her eyes. They were rimmed red which clashed with her fair, freckled complexion.

"I just wanted to sell a few bits and bobs, colonial antiques, nothing from the old country. A man called around and said he could appraise my furniture," Sue said, "I sold him a sideboard, but after his men picked it up, I saw they'd taken the coins too."

Parker nodded, "And the dealer said that you sold him the sideboard with the box of coins in it, all contents included?"

"That's right," Sue said, "he says he bought the coins fair and square and if we want to buy it back we'll pay his asking price. I never sold them to him!"

"That's just wrong," Hardison said, "taking advantage of you like that."

"I had to get help," Isla said, "because otherwise Grannie's going to go after him herself, and she's just recovered from her hip replacement. She wouldn't last if she gets sent to prison over this."

Hardison's eyebrows raised. Sue was glowering as if she was ready to bring the pain to anyone who crossed her, clutching the heavy handle of her cane.

"So the coins were very valuable?" Parker asked.

Isla slid the coin she was fidgeting with across the table for Parker to look at.

"Yes, technically they're worth about ten thousand dollars each, but-"

"We can get that back for you," Parker said confidently, "how many coins were there?"

"It's not about the financial value," Isla said, her voice rising, "those coins belong in my family. The women in my line were given care of them five hundred years ago, to raise an army for Scotland if it were ever needed. Now all we have is this one, which Grannie gave me to carry as a lucky charm. We have to get the rest of them back."

"I won't be the one who's let them go out of the family," Sue said.

Hardison leaned over the table and put a hand over Isla's reassuringly. 

"We'll get them back for you. Don't worry about a thing."

* * *

Parker was sitting cross-legged on the couch eating popcorn and crowding into Eliot's space as Hardison walked them through the situation.

"The dealer's name is Charlie Warren. He's been in antiques for about five years."

He brought up a picture of a tall man in his late forties with short, sandy blond hair and a face that fell somewhere between movie star and used car salesman, weathered by time spent on a golf course or fishing boat.

"Before that he was in banking, but it seems like he made a pile of cash and had a mid-life crisis. Left his wife and mistress, moved to Maine."

The screen showed an impressive two-story colonial-era shingled house surrounded by pine trees and deep green hedges.

"He bought a big house in Portland, he uses half of it as an antiques showroom. Started in the trade throwing a _lot_ of money around, so he's done some big business."

The screen flipped to trade journal articles about specific pieces of art work and colonial era silver that had passed through Warren's business.

"So he's got money, he's got success, what does he want?" Eliot said.

"Glad you asked. I dug around the message boards, and y'all, these things are practically antique themselves, bbcode, the things I do for you people," Hardison grumbled.

"The point?" Eliot growled.

"Right, so Charlie's come in and made some big deals, but he ain't making friends. He's used to being the big shot, but he can't just buy his way into the antiques community, and it's driving him crazy."

"Huh. Charlie wants to be liked," Parker said.

"Liked? Eh..." Hardison waggled his hand, "but he for sure wants to be respected. He wants people to look up to him."

"We can work with that," Parker said. "This should be easy. Like taking diamonds from a baby."

"Candy from a baby," Eliot said, looking at Parker like she had two heads.

"Stealing candy from babies is no fun," Parker said, "it's basically free at the supermarket."

Eliot shook his head.

"If we can get back to business," Hardison said, "how are we playing this?"

"Simple," Parker said, with a gleam in her eye. "Let's go steal an antique shop."

* * *

  
Eliot and Hardison stood in Charlie Warren's antique showroom on one of the wider streets of the small coastal city of Portland, Maine. Hardison was dressed in slim suit pants that fell just above the ankle, a pair of soft smoking shoes, and a tight white comme des garçons t-shirt with a large red heart on it. Eliot looked professorial in jeans with a button down shirt, bow tie, and a pair of round-rimmed glasses. His hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail. Between them they looked expensive.

Warren's glance swept over both of them, judging.

"What can I do for you today, gentlemen?" he said.

Hardison cleared his throat. "I telephoned earlier," he said. 

He held out his hand to shake Warren's. 

"My name is Sebastian Tombs," he nodded briefly toward Eliot, "And this is my appraiser, Doctor Patrick Holm. I have a client's house to furnish."

"Ah, yes of course," Warren said, shaking Hardison and then Eliot's hand. "Was there any period in particular that you were looking for?"

Hardison looked around the room, raising his eyebrows dubiously.

"My client, as you must understand, is a personage of the utmost distinction."

"Of course, of course, Mister Tombs," Warren said ingratiatingly.

"Oh, you can call me Seb," Hardison said, with an arch laugh. 

Eliot side-eyed Hardison with some annoyance. Why did he overplay everything?

"Does your client have a period in mind, er, Seb?" Warren asked.

"The house will be furnished primarily in Queen Anne," said Hardison, "But nothing too ostentatious of course," he smirked knowingly at Warren, "think Philadelphia, not Boston."

Hardison turned to Eliot, "Patty, are you vibing off anything?"

Eliot turned away abruptly to look at the furniture. Dammit, Hardison! It was lucky that he'd dated a cabinetmaker once and had some sense of what Queen Anne period furniture might look like.

He gravitated to a fiddly looking chair and gave it a serious glare.

Hardison came over and stroked his chin, looking thoughtful.

"Oh dear. I really thought that you'd have a higher quality of item," Hardison said.

Eliot sighed. Here we go, Hardison riling up the mark when they were just in there to keep him busy while Parker went through his safe. With any luck the job could be finished with the retrieval of the coins. If only they could just stay on track.

Warren's smile became fixed and rigid.

"Well, if that's how you feel, I'm sure there are other dealers who may be able to help you," he said stiffly, turning toward the back offices of the showroom.

"Dammit, Hardison," Eliot muttered.

"Buy me two more minutes with this lock," Parker said through comms.

Hardison opened his mouth to speak again and Eliot shot him a dark glare.

Hardison gestured at Warren's retreating back as he headed to the door behind which Parker was fervently working.

Eliot improvised, "Wait a minute, Tombs, this piece looks like it might be, ah, Sheringham," he said, loudly enough to catch Warren's attention.

"Sheringham, hmm, yes," Hardison said.

Warren turned back to them, "Oh, of course, yes, it certainly might be."

Eliot stroked the leg of the chair, "It's very rare to find any pieces by Sheringham these days. He had a workshop in Berks County, usually worked with walnut."

"That piece is oak," Warren said.

"That's what makes it unusual even for Sheringham!" Eliot said, standing up and adjusting his glasses, hoping the bluff would hold.

"Oh, certainly, a Sheringham piece in oak, that will have a much higher value," Warren said, "perhaps some time I can have you evaluate some of my other stock."

"Guys, safe doesn't have the coins in it," Parker said.

"Oh, Patty, look at this DESK," Hardison said,

"Yes, yes, I'm looking at his desk," Parker said, "some sale receipts, nothing interesting. Ooh, this looks like an appointment book, I'll take photos."

"I thought you said you wanted Queen Anne," said Warren, looking at the neo-rococo writing table Hardison had gestured at.

"Ah," Hardison said, obviously caught short.

Eliot laughed shortly, "There's a reason Tombs brings me along," he said, "He wouldn't know Queen Anne from Late Victorian."

Hardison shrugged his shoulders, "I'm all about making the space that will reflect the client's desires," he said.

"Okay, I'm done," Parker interjected, "wrap it up."

"Well, I've got a lot of places to see today," Hardison said, "thanks for your time, and don't go selling that chair to anyone but me."

Warren ignored Hardison and spoke to Eliot, "Do you have a business card with you? I would love to speak to you about appraising my stock, Doctor Holm," he said, beaming, "Who knew I had an oak Sheringham chair?"

Eliot looked startled but made a show of patting his pockets down, "uh, sorry, I don't have one on me."

"He'll email you," Hardison said, "if you must insist on poaching my appraiser. Come, Patty, we're leaving."

Eliot shrugged sheepishly at Warren and followed Hardison out the door.

* * *

Hardison and Eliot climbed back into Lucille III and drove a little way down the street to where they were picking up Parker.

"Why'd you always have to overplay it?" Eliot grumped as Parker climbed in the back doors of the van.

Hardison put his hand to his chest as if he'd been shot.

"I think the real question is why do you always have to insult my impeccable character work? Does it threaten you that I'm just that good?" he said.

"Well, we could argue about this or we could look through Warren's appointment book and figure out where the coins are," Parker said, leaning over the front seat of the van and waving her phone in Eliot's face.

"I'm driving here, Parker," he grouched, but there was no real heat in it.

Hardison was looking at his phone.

"So there isn't a colonial cabinetmaker named Sheringham," he said, "Google tells me."

"Naw," Eliot said, smirking, "made him up."

"Nice, man," Hardison said, "Warren went right for it."

"Guess he didn't want to look like he didn't know what he was talking about."

"The dynamic grifting duo strikes again," Hardison said, holding up his hand for a high-five.

Eliot let him wait for a beat before he took one hand off the steering wheel to high five.

There were two queen sized beds in the room at the quaint bed and breakfast that the crew were staying in. One of the beds was piled with luggage, and all three of them piled onto the other bed together to look through Parker's phone photos of Warren's appointment book.

There was one name that came up semi-regularly, a Daphne Ashe.

Poking at his phone, Hardison brought up information about him.

"Huh, Doctor Daphne Ashe, Warren's ex-sister-in-law. Seems like they still get along. And she's an art history professor."

"Warren met up with her at lunchtime the day after he stole the box of coins," Parker said.

"If the coins aren't with Warren, maybe he gave them to Ashe to look at." Eliot said.

"Could be," Hardison said, "a lot of those dates where Warren met up with Ashe were right before Warren sold an important piece. And from bank transfers it looks like Ashe is getting a pay-off each time."

  
Eliot stuck to his art historian cover to visit Ashe's office on campus at the University of Southern Maine. Ashe wasn't there, but the department secretary was all too eager to play nicely with the good looking, buff, and terribly polite Doctor Holm. 

"Daphne's gone camping," she disclosed, "up in Acadia. She said she was meeting someone."

"Thanks darlin'," Eliot said, "Oh, hey, would you have noticed, did she happen to have a parcel with her? About yea big?" he gestured the size of the little coin chest.

"Yes, she did," the secretary said, "but how did you know? Is this a treasure hunt of some sort?"

"Treasure hunt?" Eliot said, "somethin' like that."

"Oh that explains it, some friends of Daphne stopped by looking for her earlier, all the way over from London, and they were asking whether she had a package with her, too. I'm used to the undergrads getting up to end of semester pranks, but usually the profs stay out of it."

"Ah, you're never too old to mess with your friends," Eliot said, with a confiding wink that had the department secretary blushing involuntarily.  


* * *

A grey minivan flashed in and out of the rear mirror all the way up into the mountains, but there were lots of tourists headed out into Acadia to hike or raft, so Eliot hadn't paid it much mind except to tuck it away into the part of his consciousness that always noticed patterns or actions out of the norm.

The campsite that Ashe was staying at was off a private road that led along a steep embankment winding up a tall foothill. The light was waning. If it hadn't been near to the longest day of the year, Eliot would have insisted that they stay at the bed and breakfast overnight and drive up in the morning. But he expected to reach the campsite before full dark, and besides, there was the other party looking for Ashe. None of them wanted to take the chance that they missed out on finding the coins because they'd played things too safe.

Parker and Hardison were pulling their usual distracting antics. Hardison, sitting in the shotgun seat, was leaning all over the place to try to get the best signal on his phone. Parker was too bored to stay in one seat in Lucille. 

"Hey! Settle down! Seatbelt, Parker," Eliot barked out as he steered round the tight curves of the small road. As the low dusk was setting in over the fir-filled landscape, he had an uneasy feeling.

Parker dropped down into her seat sulkily. snapping the seatbelt closed. Hardison put his phone back in his pocket.

"Probably wasn't going to get service out here anyway," he conceded.

Eliot steered around another tight curve, glancing into the rear view mirror. There was the minivan again. The headlights pulled closer.

"What do these idiots think they're doing?" Eliot grumbled. He sped up a little, trying to keep a safe distance between the vehicles without risking taking a curve too fast. The van sped up too, coming right up behind Lucille and nudging her tail.

"Dammit," Eliot swore, correcting for the bump and hitting the accelerator harder. The minivan sped up too, pushing in between Lucille and the side of the hill with a horrible scraping noise of metal on metal.

"Hey!" Hardison protested. 

"Hold on," Eliot said, fighting with the steering wheel. Hardison gripped the bar above the window, and even Parker braced. The grey minivan kept coming, slowing down and speeding up to broadside Lucille, nudging her closer to the edge of the road.

The front left tire hit a large rock on the shoulder and Lucille veered out of control, the grey van continuing to slam into her as she slid off the road and down the loose scree, headed straight down the hill toward a large stand of firs. Eliot wrestled with the wheel desperately. The rough scrabble of dirt and fir needles under the tires made it hard to get the van under control. A slick patch pulled the van into a skid. She spun around, the steering wheel whipping out of Eliot's hands, and came sliding sideways to a crashed stop against a tree. The side airbag on Hardison's door popped open with a bang and a cloud of dust, then there was silence in the van.

  
Parker roused from a dazed state. She rode out crashes pretty well, but this one had rattled her. Hardison was leaning against the side airbag, eyes closed. The driver's side door was open and Eliot was gone. Parker unbuckled and climbed over into the driver's seat, crouching to lean over and shake Hardison awake.

"Huh, ow, what?" he said, as he opened his eyes and sat up. He rubbed his chest where the seatbelt was still tight across it. Parker unbuckled him.

"We crashed," she said, "your door is banged in, you'll have to climb out the driver's side."

"Give me a minute," Hardison said. He reached up and rubbed the side of his head, feeling a bump and some sticky blood. 

Parker reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. She turned the flashlight on and shone it in his eyes as he scrambled to cover them from the sudden brightness.

"You're fine," she said, "it's just a little bump. Come on, it's getting darker and we should find Eliot."

"How long was I out?" Hardison said, gingerly clambering out of the van after Parker.

"Can't have been long, but you know Eliot. He can move fast when he wants."

Parker pointed the phone flashlight down at the ground and then up into the trees.

"Looks like he headed that way," she said, setting off at an easy run.

Hardison took a moment to stretch and notice all the aches, pains, and twinges before giving up on any hope of sympathy and jogging after her.

They weren't on the move long before Parker came to a sudden halt. Hardison grabbed onto her shoulder to steady himself. Parker pointed the beam of the flashlight into a small clearing lined with a heavy layer of fallen needles.

A creature stood there. It was shaking its head slowly from side to side as it let out a low, moaning, "Aaauuuugh" sound, followed by a snort and a throaty cough. Its front hoof pawed the ground.

“Horses.” Parker said. “I hate horses.”  
“Technically that’s not a horse, babe.”  
“I can see the horn! Parker hissed.  
“Also it’s way too small for a horse, it’s got goat hooves, that tail ain’t a horses tail, and it’s got those creepy goat eyes,” Hardison said with a shuddder.   
“Well then, I hate whatever that is,” Parker said. 

"Babe," Hardison said slowly, "nobody hates unicorns."

"Unicorns aren't real. They aren't, are they?"

"That - thing - is real," Hardison said, "and it's standing between us and Eliot."

Indeed, Eliot was lying on the ground behind the mythological creature, looking dazed. He had a nasty cut across his forehead and bruising on his face, presumably from the crash.

"Unicorns aren't supposed to be real," Parker whispered angrily.

"Maybe we're concussed?" Hardison said, blinking his eyes, "Can people be concussed into hallucinating the same thing?"

The unicorn opened its mouth, displaying large, yellowish molars, and let out a mournful "bleaaaaaaah" at them.

"I don't think it's too happy with us," Hardison said, sliding in front of Parker protectively.

Parker briefly considered taking offense but with the horse-adjacent nature of the situation, decided to allow Hardison to play the hero.

"El- Eliot? Are you okay?" Hardison called softly.

Eliot stirred and started to sit up. The unicorn turned, leaning over him and gently nudging him back down.

"Bleah," it said.

"It doesn't seem to want to hurt him," Parker said.

The unicorn stretched its necks over and licked Eliot's forehead. 

"Ugh, what," Eliot said, struggling to sit up again.

"Look!" Parker said.

Hardison stared.

The wound on Eliot's forehead was gone, along with the blood.

"That's just creepy," Hardison said, "But also, convenient."

Eliot pushed himself up to his knees.

"What's going on?" he said, rubbing at his head gingerly.

"That other van pushed us off the road. We hit a tree. By the time Hardison and I woke up you'd wandered off and found this thing -" Parker gestured at the unicorn - "which doesn't like us, but seems to like you a _lot_."

"You okay, man?" Hardison said, "looked like you hit your head pretty badly."

"I'm fine," Eliot snapped. The unicorn gently headbutted him, being careful not to gouge anything with its long, sharp horn.

"What," Eliot said, and then shook his head.

"Actually, I'm great," he said, pushing up to his feet. He leaned down to stroke the unicorn's nose.

"You're a good girl, ain't you?" he said.

"Bleah!" the unicorn said.

"Magical unicorn healing powers," Hardison observed, "very nice."

Eliot scritched the unicorn's forehead, running his fingers around the base of the horn. The unicorn nuzzled up into his hand, looking smug.

"If she's a good girl, why does she look like she wants to stab us?" Parker said nervously.

"Hey, it's all right girl, they're the good guys," Eliot said, rolling his eyes at Parker.

"Meeaaaah," the unicorn protested, even as it eyed Parker and Hardison with more friendliness. But it made no move to stop blocking them from getting to Eliot.

"Yeah, we're the good guys," Hardison said, approaching with one hand held out, "we just want to make sure Eliot's all right."

"Eliot is fine," Eliot grouched, as the unicorn snapped at Hardison's fingers.

"Tell your friend not to bite me!" Hardison shrieked in a manly fashion.

"She's ain't gonna bite you, are you sweetheart?" Eliot said, "C'mon now, I don't need protecting. Don't understand why she's fixated one me anyway," he grumbled, "figure it should be you she likes best."

"Hey, I am _not_ , as you damn well know, a virgin!" Hardison protested. 

Parker snickered.

"No, but you're..." Eliot shrugged and looked self-conscious, "You got clean hands, not like me."

"It's true," Parker said, "You are the cinnamon roll."

"Woman, I am not a baked good!" Hardison said, "And anyway, it's a moot point because that thing clearly likes Eliot best. Y'all should read more fantasy. Everyone knows that unicorns are attracted to fidelity and loyalty just as much as purity."

Parker looked thoughtfully at Eliot.

"In that case, the horsey thing picked well," she said, with a decisive nod, "but I still don't want her to eat me."

"She's not going to eat you," Eliot said, impatiently, "she's just doing her best here."

The unicorn looked up at him with eyes full of love, the complete opposite of the baleful expression it had turned on the others.

"Meh," it said, nudging his leg with the side of its head.

"Be nice to Parker and Hardison," Eliot said.

"Mehhhhnnn," the unicorn said, but it did lick Hardison's fingers without any teeth being involved at all.

"There we go," Hardison said, "we're all friends here. Right, Parker?"

Parker twisted her mouth up uncomfortably, but eventually she reached her hand out too for the unicorn to sniff.

"What do we do now?" Hardison said, "It's great that no one is getting bitten or impaled, but we're still out in the middle of nowhere and Lucille's not going anywhere soon."

"We gotta go up that hill," Eliot said, his hand resting between the unicorn's ears on the back of its head, "she's feeling confused and new to this world, but she's clear that her family's up there and they're in danger."

"Are you telepathically communing with the unicorn?" Hardison said.

"I am not telepathically communing with anyone, telepathy ain't real!" Eliot protested, "I just know how to read livestock. Ain't my fault you're a city boy." 

His accent was thickening and becoming more country by the minute. If they hadn't been stranded in the middle of nowhere with some Narnia-level shit going on, Hardison would have made fun of him for it.

Eliot and the unicorn led the way up the hill, Hardison and Parker scrambling behind them. Eliot had long since given up trying to get them to move silently in the woods, but before they hit the ridge line he held one hand up for them to stop and wait.

The sound was muffled by the undergrowth around them, but English accented voices could be made out, arguing. 

"... kill them? ... not .... only two coins missing..."

"...all of them... answers... "

And a defiant sounding American voice:

"...told you... gone.... won't find it."

Eliot was braced to move but the unicorn moved faster, charging up the hill, horn down and ready to create mayhem.

Eliot sighed and took off at a run after it.

* * *

* * *

Parker and Hardison shrugged at each other and followed. By the time they crested the hill the fight was in full swing and almost out the other side. At the top of the hill was a small campsite with a semi-permanent lean-to and a two person tent. There was a bonfire lighting the rapidly darkening evening, and the flames cast dancing shadows illuminating the scene.

Two women were tied up back to back in the middle of the campsite, huddling away from the action. The unicorn had one man who was dressed in dark, military clothing back up against a tree at the edge of the clearing. Eliot had another similarly dressed man down and was aiming a punch at the point of his jaw.

Parker jogged to the middle of the clearing and started untying the two women by the fire. She threw a piece of rope to Hardison. He caught it and headed over to tie the hands of the man currently bailed up by the unicorn. The unicorn co-operated in giving him space to get the man securely tied to a thick sapling. 

The man was trembling with terror.

"Keep that thing away from me, please, I won't do nothing bad, just keep it away from me," he begged.

Hardison shrugged as he finished tying off the rope.

"She does what she pleases, man. I'd just keep quiet and still if I were you."

By the time Hardison was done, Eliot had his dance partner on the ground with his hands zip-tied behind his back.

Hardison shook his head. He did not want to know why Eliot was wandering around with a pocketful of zip-ties.

"Thank you, thank you. They were going to kill us," the woman Parker was untying said.

"Doctor Ashe, I presume," Parker said.

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"We were looking for you," she said.

"Oh no. Not you too," Ashe said, reeling back.

"We're not here to hurt you," Hardison said, leaning over to help Ashe to her feet.

"You are here for the Coins, though!" exclaimed the other person, clambering to her feet. Whereas Doctor Ashe was casually dressed in a long-sleeved t-shirt and hiking pants, she was wearing a long, dusty, heavily embroidered grey robe with a deep hood hanging down the back and a cord around the waist. Her shaggy hair was crowned with a twisted wreath of evergreen.

"We're here to get the coins back to their rightful owner," Eliot said. The unicorn had trotted up beside him and was leaning against his leg, soliciting head scratches. 

"You know well they don't belong to you," Eliot growled.

The unicorn said, "bleaaaah," its yellow eyes glowing in the dim firelight. Night was setting in, and Eliot was silhouetted against the dark of the forest. His eyes seemed to glow, too.

"We mean you no harm, but you almost let the coins fall into the hands of the Englishmen here," Eliot said. His voice sounded like it was coming from a distance. It had an odd, soft Highland burr to it. Hardison shivered and grabbed onto Parker's hand.

"We would never have let these men have them," the woman in the long robe said, "they weren't going to leave until they found the last two coins, and we knew that one of the last coins was out there in the forest."

She pointed to the unicorn.

Eliot seemed to loom bigger against the dark.

"Aye, right," he said, "well, it was lucky you didn't lose them altogether. We'll take them back to their rightful home now."

"Is it bothering anyone else that Eliot has been possessed by the unicorn?" Hardison said.

"I'm not going to let him _stay_ possessed," Parker said firmly.

"Fine, but can someone please tell me what's going on here?" Hardison said, bravado in his voice.

Ashe cleared her throat.

"It's my fault," she said, "a friend called me up,"

"Charles Warren," Parker interrupted, "your ex-brother-in-law and shady antiques dealer."

"Yes, Charlie called me and told me he'd found,"

"Stolen," Parker said.

"Found, stolen - come by, at any rate, some old-looking coins, and would I mind looking at them. Well, he brought them in to my office and I started doing some research. Once you start looking into something like this, making calls, the gossip gets around. And then everyone knows you have something."

"Like these guys," Parker said, kicking one of the military looking brits in the leg.

"Yes, exactly like these guys in this instance. Though usually it's just rival academics or buyers trying to make a sharp trade."

"That still doesn't explain," Hardison gestured at the unicorn, "the fantasy creature we're all seeing here. Unless this really is a mass hallucination."

"The Beast is Real," the druidic stranger said, the capital letters audible in her speech, "I knew it, I knew the legends were true, and here we are, Graced by its Presence."

"One of the research leads I followed brought me up here to meet with Doctor Rafferty,"

"Call Me Muire," the woman said, ominously.

"Right, Muire, who it turns out is from a Pictish line," Ashe said.

"Speak to the point, will you?" Eliot snapped in the unearthly voice.

"Right, right, well, uh it seems so, I didn't believe it but," Ashe nodded gingerly at the unicorn, "I heard that there was an authority on this kind of coin living up here on a campsite, and I was able to get in contact and she said to come up and bring the coins. I just thought it was for an appraisal but-"

"But we were able to Perform the Ritual and the Foretold Defender of Scotland Arose from the Earth," Muire said.

"Ohhhh," Parker said, "Isla said the coins were to raise an army for Scotland! But it's not to _pay_ soldiers, it's unicorns!"

"Babe," Hardison said, then he paused, "no, actually, since there is a unicorn standing right there, I guess that's it."

"The coins must be returned to their keeper," Eliot boomed, his eyes flashing brighter for a moment. 

The unicorn said, "Blaw! Bawwwww!"

There was a sudden flurry of action as the man who Eliot had ziptied snapped his tie, pulled a gun, and shot in Eliot's direction from where he was kneeling on the ground.

The unicorn sprung between Eliot and the bullet, taking the shot squarely in its flank as it charged forward and rammed its horn into the gunman's leg, knocking him down and making him drop the gun.

"NO!" Muire screamed. 

Eliot knelt down on the ground where the unicorn lay bleeding and panting, and pressed his hand to the wound. His eyes glowed and a burnished golden light passed from his hand into the unicorn. The wound closed up, and Eliot collapsed to the ground.

Hardison rushed over and grabbed the gun off the ground. He emptied the clip from the gun and threw them both into the undergrowth. He glared down at the gunman, but the man was more preoccupied with pressing his hands over the ragged hole in his thigh.

The unicorn trotted over to stand menacing the gunman, giving a nod and a "blaah" to Hardison. He quickly turned to join Parker where she was kneeling beside Eliot.

"Is he okay?" Hardison said.

"He will be well," Muire said, "He has merely Shared his Energy with the Beast, and must rest."

"We're getting him out of here now," Parker said, "where are the coins?"

"In the van," Ashe said, "they took them, but when they counted them somehow they knew there was one missing."

"The armies of Scotland will never rise against England," the gunman with the gored leg said through clenched teeth. 

"Oh, great, is anyone here not on some kind of mystical quest? Just me? Okay then," Hardison said grumpily, his finger anxiously pressed against the pulse point on Eliot's throat.

"Hardison, bring Eliot over to the van," Parker said, "we're taking it. Doctor Ashe, Muire, if you want to come with us, you can."

"I'll come," Ashe said, "I'm ready to get out of here."

"I will stay with the Beast," Muire said, looking up from where she was bandaging the gunman's wounded leg with a pungent smelling poultice.

Hardison scooped Eliot up with a grunt. For a short guy he weighed a ton. 

Parker had the door to the grey van open before Hardison got to it.

"What are we doing with the brits?" he asked, as he maneuvered Eliot into the back seat.

"Put them in the back," Parker said shortly.

The two men didn't put up a fight as they were bundled into the back of the van. Hardison retied their hands and attached them firmly to the base of the third row of seats. The one who had been gored was muttering viciously under his breath, but the other who had been terrified of the unicorn mostly looked relieved to be heading out of the woods.

Parker patted the men down and tossed the keys of the van to Hardison.

"You drive, I'm in the backseat with Eliot, Doctor Ashe, you take the passenger seat."

Hardison nodded in pleased acknowledgement. He'd expected Parker to want to drive, and the thought of her speed-demon ways careening back down through the hills in the lowering dark of night was hair raising. It was going to take all his discipline, though, to keep his eyes on the road and not glance over at Eliot. Not much put Eliot out this hard.

The van was quiet during the winding trip back down the narrow road from the campsite. Hardison's grip loosened on the wheel once they were off the gravel onto a roughly paved road.

After about an hour of driving, Parker said "Stop!"

Hardison pulled the van to a stop.

"Eliot okay?" he said anxiously, twisting in his seat to look at the recumbent man.

"His pulse is still strong and he's breathing fine," Parker said.

"Why are we stopping?"

"Time to drop off some passengers," Parker said, with a nasty glint in her eye.

"Hey, no, you can't leave us here," squealed the more timid of the two Englishmen. 

"We can, and we're going to," Parker said, squirreling over past Doctor Ashe's shoulder to pop open the glove compartment and pull out two passports.

"Hardison, grab photos of these," she said.

Hardison complied, snapping quick pictures of the identification pages with his phone.

Parker took the passports back from him and got out of the van. Hardison got out to help her. Not that she couldn't take care of herself, but he didn't want the man who'd shot at Eliot to get any ideas.

Parker threw the passports into the bushes before opening the rear hatch.

"What the hell?"  
"What are you doing?"  
"You can't do that!"

The men were yelling and tugging against their ropes.

"Here's the deal," Parker said, "my partner is going to book tickets in your name from Logan to Heathrow for twenty-four hours from now. If you're on that flight, then we'll leave you alone. Otherwise, I'm sure customs and immigration would like to talk to you about bringing guns into the country. If I were you, I'd start looking for my passport."

Hardison leaned into the van to untie the men, pushing each of them out of the van onto the ground.

The men scrambled toward the bushes and Parker gave a satisfied nod.

The rest of the drive seemed to go by quickly. Eliot started to come back to himself as they hit the outskirts of Portland. The little city glowed gently with the warmth of streetlights and cars, and Eliot's eyes flickered open.

"Whafusk..." he mumbled.

Parker brushed his hair off his forehead, gentler than she would usually be.

"You gave us a scare, man," Hardison said from the driver's seat, "thought you died on us."

"Uggh. No, m'fine," Eliot said. His stomach growled, "hungry though, could eat a horse."

Parker laughed, a shrill, hysterical giggle. Eliot glowered at her.

"What's wrong with you?"

* * *

  
"All right, Isla said you had something to show me, well where is it then?" Sue said.

They'd picked her up from her home in the Boston suburbs and driven up to Muire's campsite in Maine. It was a very different drive in the bright sunshine of a summer day. Parker spent the drive with her face pressed to the window looking for moose. Hardison grumbled when they got to the spot where Lucille had been run off the road - getting her towed out had been a job. But the mood was generally one of fizzing anticipation.

Sue was dressed for the day's trip in the same black jeans, a Dead Kennedys t-shirt, and purple doc martens. She was carrying a huge carpet bag.

"Ever since you got them back, I'm not letting the coins out of my sight," she confided to Parker.

Muire came out of her lean-to shelter to greet them.

"You'll be here to visit the Beast then," she said.

"Yes, this is Sue, who's the keeper of the coins," Eliot said, "thought she needed to meet uh- the unicorn."

His voice sounded sheepish. Even a few days away from the eventful night on the mountain had cast a weird haze of improbability over the experience.

But there was no denying the creature that came trotting happily out of the woods to greet him.

"Meaaah!" the unicorn said, rubbing and nuzzling its face into Eliot's hand.

"Aw, she's so happy to see you, man," Hardison said.

"Oh my goodness," Sue said, "she's, oh, she's beautiful!"

The unicorn looked up from fussing on Eliot and trotted over to greet Sue, kneeling politely in front of her for head scritches.

"I didn't think- there were family stories of course, but this is - this is unbelievable! Look at you," Sue was beaming with happiness as she scratched behind the unicorn's ears.

"The Beast is Happy in the Forest," Muire said, "It is a good place for her, and I am Here to Guard her Peace."

"She's lonely," Eliot said, "happy, but lonely."

"More telepathy," Hardison snorted.

"I'm tellin' you man, I just know goats," Eliot grumped, "didn't grow up with my face glued to a screen like some people."

Sue looked thoughtful, and reached into her carpet bag, bringing out the chest of coins.

"Well, I suppose Scotland can spare a few fighters," she said, "I thought of going over to raise the army during the independence vote, but I didn't imagine I'd be too welcome coming from America to make trouble."

"The Beast would Flourish with company," Muire said, "Come, I will show you how to Lay the Coins."

Hardison lent Sue his arm as they crossed into the rougher terrain of the forest.

"There, Lay Coins Under Trees that Call to You," Muire said, "then we Must Leave and Let the Work Happen."

Sue carefully selected and laid out six coins under different trees and they retreated back to the campsite. The unicorn stayed in the grove of trees.

"When will we know if it worked?" Parker said.

From the woods a thin cry could be heard, and then another, eerie and haunting.

"What on earth?" Hardison said, pulling closer to Parker and Eliot.

"Baby unicorns," Eliot said with satisfaction.

The others stared at him.

"What? It's a very distinctive sound."

* * *

  
**Coda**

Charlie Warren was feeling very pleased with himself for the price he got for the oak Sheringham chair, until the buyer produced a badge and handcuffs.

"What? But it's genuine! I had it appraised," he argued.

"It's hard for it to be a genuine Sheringham when there was no such cabinetmaker. You're under arrest for fraud, you have the right to remain silent-"

The handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists.


End file.
